As America labored through the birth pangs of a new presidency, much of the
world laughed. Compared to our difficulties, even mad-cow disease became
sufferable. Contemplating the political shenanigans that might block
Benjamin Netanyahu's attempt to unseat Ehud Barak, a veteran Israeli
columnist wrote, "What are we, America?"

If the world hasn't changed much, sooner or later someone will argue that
all this mess was the fault of the Jews. When this happens, we should
accept responsibility, rather than issue shocked denials.

What others mocked and derided, America should consider her proudest moment.
When the chad dust settled, America had a new president-elect. Troops were
not necessary to maintain order. The market did not plummet. The basic
features and structures of government survived unchanged. Stand-up comics
were the ones most impacted by the waiting and indecision, their repertoires
greatly enriched.

It wasn't always this way. The bloodiest battle of the eighteenth century
took place during eleven years of mutual slaughter, as Europe sought to name
a leader for one of its least important members, in the War of the Spanish
Succession. France's five Republics lurched between unwieldy and unworkable
constitutions, even when it wasn't beheading its monarchs. Modern Italy has
changed governments more often than calls for a recount in Miami-Dade.

Americans voted twice. On Election Day, they went to the polls to choose a
president. In the weeks that followed, they voted for the manner in which
to resolve painful national differences. The first balloting may have been
inconclusive; the second was a resounding victory for Law as the Great
Decisor.

The epilogue to Paul Johnson's History of the Jews is an encomium to the
gifts we bestowed upon humanity. "To them we owe the idea of equality
before the law, both divine and human."

No one was above the scrutiny of the ancient Jewish law - not nations, not
kings, not Moses himself. This notion alone was a sea change for
civilization. There were more gifts waiting in the full flowering of Jewish
law in the millennia that followed.

Jewish law embraced every area of human interest. There were no questions
that the Law could not ask, and it unfailingly yielded answers.

The answers did not always have immediate and compelling appeal to every
citizen. But every individual understood that the system of Law was the
most trusted way to navigate a world that would always include uncertainty
and ambiguity. "Let the law pierce the mountain!" thundered the Talmud.
Jews learned that only G-d could know what "really" happened, who "really"
was liable or innocent. A kosher diner could usually not know what "really"
had gone into the dish before him. The law determined whether the contents
were permissible or not. Who could tell which of two litigants, each
pressing a claim without accompanying evidence, was "really" correct? The
law taught people that carefully reasoned mechanisms of presumption and
procedure could disentangle the two sides. Mortals would have to satisfy
themselves - whether in religious law, business practice, or interpersonal
relationships - with legal, rather than factual, realities. The law showed
itself capable to protecting both principle and practicality.

The law not only provided answers to specific questions, but afforded a
place of refuge when there were no answers.

Americans did not riot in the streets demanding an unobtainable "fairness"
and the sanctity of every vote. They understood that human effort is
forever flawed, and that the Law must decide how much error can be
tolerated. They had little problem accepting that an indeterminate election
should be decided by either a Florida legislature or a Florida judiciary,
and patiently waited for the US Supreme Court to choose between two
competing readings of the Law. They understood that the law was binding
even when it seemed vague, or even undiscovered. The system of Law itself
could be relied upon to provide a path to a final resolution.

The whole drama might have been called "Abaye and Rava Go to Washington,"
starring the two paradigmatic Talmudic sparring champions. For millennia,
Jews sought the counsel of Jewish legal experts for every personal and
communal concern. They asked all kinds of questions, but they rarely sought
out merely the personal wisdom of the one they queried. Instead, they
wanted to know what the Law said. No matter that there was much truth to
the old saw, "two rabbis, three opinions." The Law could tolerate
different readings within its chambers. Jews understood that personal,
domestic, and national tranquility depended upon listening to its many
voices, rather than the meretricious song wafting from other precincts.

With no country of her own and almost always lacking the methods of
enforcement available to agencies of government, the Jewish nation found
loyalty to the Law within her soul, maintaining discipline and creating
common purpose that knew no geographical boundaries. It took the rest of
the world a long time to catch up. Perhaps, during the hard centuries of
her exile, more of her neighbors were watching and learning than she
thought.